There is a man
who does what all I do
with and without
comprehension.
Strange it is to find him
copying me, Anger
drives me mad. I want
to bash him.
I do not want to name him
as I seethe with anger
when I think of him. He
continues without a pause.
Having learnt to shun him,
I pass the days in peace,
but when I happen to see him
my pressure shoots up.
To remain placid and passive,
I should undergo a training.
of late, my indignation
takes the garb of contempt.
The man keeps on and on.
He will never stop doing.
His irrational sensibility irks,
compelling me to shun his existence.
Meenas Poems 